Pygmalion
by cathy's pearls
Summary: "I was raised by a dragon, but if I told anyone else, they wouldn't believe me." Smaug/OFC. Eventual romance.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi there, I'm new here, so don't bite. I have a fondness for dragons and writing. I've written stories for myself before, but this is my first time publishing. The Hobbit movies got me inspired, especially Smaug. I'm super critical of my own writing, so I'm not the best judge, but I hope you like it :)  
_

* * *

- 1 -

It is strange to put these thoughts on paper and write them as they come to me.

Until now, I have only written down inventories, keeping record of my King's riches. Since these riches are near infinite, I have spent these past years collecting and recollecting everything I have seen. He has asked me to perform this laborious task for as long as I live and I, his humble tenant, must oblige.

But the other day, I felt quite ill.

I never get bored under the mountain, you see. There is too much my eye dwells on, there is too much to do. There is no time for idle thoughts. But I do get sad from time to time.

And yesterday, I felt so sad I had to lie down in my nook. I near sobbed my heart out.

Luckily, my King did not hear me. He is still in deep sleep.

I suppose I cried because it was my birthday. I knew, privately, that I was turning twenty, but I don't believe anyone else, my King included, did.

And why should they? No one knows I'm here. No one knows I exist.

Sixteen years of living under the mountain. I do not remember the colour of the sky anymore. I haven't seen it in so long. I haven't breathed in any other air since I was four. And I've never been as sad as I was yesterday.

My absence from the world of the living never bothered me before.

It must be something about turning such a round age.

No matter. I know I will die here. But I've decided that I will remedy my sadness by writing it down. I will invent a friend. I will keep a journal.

* * *

First I should tell you something about myself. I ought to make introductions. My name is Cinta. My King named me as soon as I was delivered to the mountain. I had no name before that time. He told me Cinta means "small" and that I should be grateful to own it.

"Of my riches, you are the smallest, Cinta," he said.

I am grateful to him. He did not kill me. He offered me shelter.

When that old woman left me at the doors of Erebor, I was only four. I cried and screamed so hard that I thought my voice would give out. She pushed me inside and the doors swung shut behind me before I even knew where I was. I beat at the stone with my tiny fists, clawed at it with my fingers in despair, but to no avail.

I could not leave. I was trapped inside the mountain.

I thought the dragon would eat me. I was sure. That's what all dragons do.

But he didn't.

I was too small to hide from him. I couldn't keep from crying and wailing as children are wont to do.

I only went silent when I first saw him.

Even now, when I recall, I cannot understand how it was that I never heard him.

I was kneeling on the cold stone floor and I had my head buried in my lap and everything was quiet all around me.

He snuck up on me like a shadow. I never heard his serpent body slither towards me. I never heard or felt his gale-like breath around me. I did not hear his grunts as he pushed through the halls of his palace. I did not hear anything.

I cried for so long that I almost fell asleep with dried tears on my eyelashes.

And I would have slept and fallen into a dream and maybe, like him, I would have gone on sleeping for centuries.

But it was not to be.

"What is _this_? A thief? It does not look like one!"

The booming voice was deep and thunderous, but it wasn't loud.

I remember even now I was not startled, even though I was terribly afraid.

I lifted my head slowly and was met with an astonishing sight. A pair of glowing yellow eyes. I had never seen anything like it. They were as large as two suns and they were staring straight at me. They gave off such a mesmerizing light that I felt I was under a spell. I did not dare look at the rest of him, but I felt his gigantic body all around me.

"A cub under the mountain! Barely a suckling! A dwarf's child, is it? No, I don't smell the tainted flesh of dwarves. Is it a Man's then? But look how small it is!"

I huddled on the floor, trying to make myself even smaller, but my eyes were glued to his.

"Why, I can't even swallow it. What's the use of it? I can't burn it to ashes, either," he spoke again, contemplating my tiny frame.

His body suddenly moved away from me, and I could see his gigantic mouth, his angry snout, the nostrils thrumming with smoke, his sharp teeth gnashing against each other. There was no end to his body. I only saw an ocean of red scales.

I started whimpering, my four year-old self guessing more than knowing that these may be my last moments. I had no notion of death. I did not know if it hurt. I did not know if it didn't. I only knew I wanted to keep looking at those two suns, because if I did that, I could pretend nothing else existed.

"Can you speak, small one?"

I choked on a cry.

"Answer me!" he bellowed and his voice filled the cavernous halls and made me shrink. I put my head in my lap again.

"What accursed Man left you here?" he inquired, his hot breath making the locks of hair around my face fly up and down.

I snuck a peek at him and felt tears smarting in my eyes again.

"P-please don't eat me," I mumbled, feeling my throat close up from terror.

The dragon before me let out a sigh.

"There is _nothing_ of you to eat. You are too small."

I lifted my head and wiped the tears, but more came running down my cheeks.

"I want to go home! I want to go home! Please, let me go home!"

The dragon snorted, blowing a hot current that almost knocked me over.

"Stupid youngling. You are surely some Man's foolish daughter. I am not keeping you here. I like my solitude."

"Please go away!" I wailed, hugging my knees to my chest.

The dragon growled upset. "_Me?!_ It is you who must leave!"

"But – but the doors won't open! I can't move them!" I cried desperately.

"Then the Man who brought you must take you away."

I sniffed. "_She_ won't come back. She said I'm no good. She said I'm b-bad."

I heard him make a deep sound in his throat, but I didn't know what it meant.

"How bad can a little vermin be?" he asked and I saw his nostrils flaring.

"She said I'm bad," I repeated, remembering her words. "She said I have no mommy and daddy."

He growled again. "Nonsense. _Everyone_ has a mother and father."

I shook my head. "She said not me. She said I can't come back with her. But I want to go home! I want to go home!"

The dragon suddenly rose to his full height. He rose higher and higher, until his eyes were looking down at me from the ceiling. His red scales glinted like fire.

"Well, then. It would seem _this_ is your home now."

* * *

The first two years, I thought someone would come and fetch me. I even thought the old woman would come back, though I bore her no fondness. But no one came.

Smaug, King Under the Mountain, told me that no one dared enter his lair. Only reckless thieves would be stupid enough to try it, but those did not usually leave a child on his doorstep.

After that, I stopped hoping. I stopped thinking about it. I received a name. I grew less afraid of the dragon that had not eaten me. I was small and I was content to be small.

I found that the dwarves had left behind them great provisions of food and drink. At first, Smaug brought food to me, barrels of mead and meat, and that is how I knew he was not going to kill me. He was going to raise me. Then, he gave me permission to walk about the Halls. There was a labyrinth of corridors and great columns of stairs, all carved in the same austere fashion, with symbols and letters that were a mystery to me. There were deep and dark passages that led into the heart of the mountain and, if you were to believe Smaug, once you ventured on that journey, you never came back. I was never to stray too far from the Great Hall of Thráin, the lowest Hall in Erebor. That is where he sleeps now.

I cannot tell you if there is a more wondrous place on Middle Earth than the Great Hall of Thráin. I have laid my eyes on it every single day for the past sixteen years, yet every time, I am left a little breathless. All the jewels, gems and coin the world has in its possession are to be found here. They are all piled up high in heaps and heaps of gleaming gold, rubies, sapphires, emeralds and diamonds. Here you will find stardust and white stones that seem to have been wrenched from the bosom of the night sky; here you will find black stones made of glass that can never break, but which can cut through steel. Here you will find metals you cannot touch or look upon, for they would turn you blind or drive you mad. Most of their names have been forgotten, but they whisper from every arch, every pillar and every beam. It's as if they have taken the shape of this very Hall. Sometimes I feel I can breathe in all this gold, all this richness, and it leaves me dizzy. It is a vast ocean of wealth that defies the imagination.

But that is not all. As a child growing up, I found many other wonders that better suited my curiosity. There were many ancient books and tomes that were hidden underneath the mounds of gold. That is how I learned to read and write. There were also chests filled with fine cloth from which I fashioned some clothes. I also found wooden boxes filled with all sorts of instruments the dwarves used in their affairs. Most of them were made to sharpen or mould precious stones, but some I took as toys and played with, in the absence of dolls and other children. The small desk I am writing on and other pieces of furniture I collected along the way.

If what I describe sounds rather fanciful, I must apologize. I am not endowed with such powers as to do justice to these magnificent Halls. Nor am I capable of convincing you that it was not a prison. I may have cried the other day, but I don't normally cry. Because my home has never been an awful one.

I had more than any child could have growing up.

And my King was, in many ways, my father.

I was raised by a dragon, but if I told anyone else, they wouldn't believe me. Sometimes, I don't believe it myself.

But I cannot doubt it, because every morning I wake up to the sound of his peaceful snoring and when I walk into the Great Hall, I see his great sleeping form, welcoming me back.

He has been asleep for seven years now.

I last saw those glowing yellow eyes when I was just thirteen. But I have kept my word to him and I have continued keeping his books, writing down the names of his riches.

I would not, in any case, dare to disobey him. I do not fear him anymore, not as I used to when I was only four, but I am still deeply aware that my life is his to use and his to dispose of.

I suppose this is my only act of rebellion; this journal.

I think I am entitled to a friend. I haven't spoken to a living soul in seven years and even I, Cinta, the smallest of the small, get lonely sometimes.

Of course, you're probably wondering; do I wish he would wake up?

I could not possibly answer. When I lie awake at night, I sometimes miss his presence and his deep, soothing voice. It is a monster's voice, but he has been my only parent, after all. For nine years of my life, he took care of me, spoke to me and told me many tales, taught me many lessons.

But then I think how time passes and how I'm getting older. It's already been seven years. He may sleep for a whole century, for all I know. I might die in that time and perhaps he would still slumber. So I think I'd rather he did not wake at all. Let him sleep while I roam free and alone under the mountain. I think of these Halls as my own. And I take comfort in this knowledge. I am not a nobody, after all. I have everything I could ever want.

It is only at times I get sad, but I have you for that from now on. And we shall make a lovely pair.

If I am to keep record of _all_ my King's riches, then I must keep a record of myself too, the smallest of the small. I shall tell you how a dragon raised me.

* * *

_Good? Bad? Please let me know :) _


	2. Chapter 2

_So this is the second chapter of Pygmalion :) I really want to thank everyone for the reviews, they were extremely helpful and encouraging! Thanks also to the anononymous Guest. Please read and let me know your thoughts :)_

* * *

- 2 -

I ought to start at the beginning of things and tell you how I spent each year with my Father-King under the mountain, but therein lays a problem: since I have only now started a correspondence with you, I have no written record of my past (I have kept no other journals) and am unable to recall but fragmentary pieces. I fish them from the stream of my mind as they leap into the air, but as soon as I seem to have grasped them, they slip away.

I was very young, you see, and it was all a blur of colours and sounds. I came to associate the deep soothing red of my King's belly with warmth, but it was a warmth that could grow too hot and suffocate me. I matched the sound of coins falling into a waterfall across his body with a charming childhood song, but that song could become a war cry or a dirge if I wasn't careful.

I felt afraid and happy all the time.

What strange a mixture!

But the fear made me so happy to find that, each new day, I was still alive and had yet to be eaten! I appreciated and measured each breath and weighed them in gold. Most likely, what most children took for granted seemed wildly fortunate to me.

Gradually, that constant fear and happiness became only contentment.

It's strange, but I miss the exhilaration of fear.

I can't tell you things as they happened in order, but I _can_ tell you when I felt truly content for the first time.

I was around nine, I believe, and Smaug decided to teach me how to hide.

He said, "There is no fool strong enough to ever challenge me. But you are a soft small thing, Cinta. And should trouble come to you, you must use the only weapon you possess to deceive your enemies."

"What is that, Your Grace?"

"Why, your size. Do you know there are such creatures that are smaller than you and yet tenfold more venomous? They slither and hide underground and come out just in time to bite you."

I had never seen or heard of snakes before, but he called them "little dragons".

He said, "You could be a little dragon, too. If you took the time to learn."

At that point in the conversation, I remember fidgeting nervously and replying in a rather bold and unconscious fashion, "But I'd rather learn to swordfight!"

My King was quite scandalized when he heard this. He shook his head severely, his scales rising and falling gently across his back, as he expressed his complete disapproval at the idea.

"You have been reading too many tales with knights. Swordfighting! What a barbarous and uncouth little game!"

"But those knights are honourable, Your Grace! They save people who need help and don't expect anything in return!" I insisted, not ready to give up yet, although my heart was beating wildly.

"Do you honestly believe that gibberish? _Everyone_ has a price, Cinta. Men, in particular, are easiest to buy. The fool who renders his services for nothing is _not_ to be trusted."

I felt a little deflated after hearing that.

"But in one of those stories, the knight gives up his life for the maiden and her father."

"And what good does _that_ do?" Smaug inquired, nostrils flaring. "A Man is more valuable alive than dead. Death is but a sordid, useless gift. It's vanity concealed as selflessness. But tell me, what came of the maiden and her father? Surely they were wiser."

"They were free to rule the kingdom again. It had been overtaken by foul monsters."

My Father-King seemed to smirk at that. "See? Who needs knights, after all?"

"I-I don't have to be a knight. I could be a sellsword."

Smaug growled with annoyance, but I could see he was less scandalized and more amused by the suggestion.

"I grant you that a sellsword is much better than a knight. But I do _not_ grant you permission to be one."

I said nothing in reply for I was a little angry and sad, but he noticed my mood very fast.

"It seems you don't want to be a "little dragon". Very well, then. I will offer you a deal. If you can hide from me for a whole day and I am not able to find you, I will gift you a sword."

My eyes sparkled with delight as I looked up at him. I liked a challenge as much as any child does.

"But, if I _do_ find you, you must never talk about swordfighting again."

My King was driving a hard bargain, but I took it anyway.

"All right."

"Careful. You only have three tries."

"But, Your Grace! You did not mention that!"

But my guardian was a sly creature. He smirked again, revealing his fangs.

"No, I did not."

* * *

I had only three tries, so I had to use them wisely. I crossed off all the bad places to hide; the bed of coins and jewels on which he rested daily – he knew exactly where every little thing was and any disruption would be noticed –, the wide corridors that offered no shelter, some of the taller staircases I could not reach, the ancient forges that lay forgotten under layers of dust. That left me with the kitchens, the empty apartments of the dwarves, the narrow hallways in between and the wine cellars.

I thought he'd least expect me to hide in the wine cellars so that was my first try.

Smaug and I had made a deal that I would go to my hiding place when he was resting, so that I should have a fair chance.

I was confident, as a nine-year old, that I could outwit him, if only I was brave enough to do it. I did not understand that outwitting required more cleverness than valour.

So down I went into the wine cellars, bringing with me only a mirror, a fistful of small stones and a heavy shawl. The mirror was for seeing over my shoulder and reflecting the light, the stones were for scaring off mice and other such creatures, and the shawl was for keeping me warm in the cold cellar. I thought myself very smart, despite everything.

The wine cellars were vast, but cluttered with various barrels, casks and pails, which was to my advantage. There was very little wine left, but a great deal of mead. I thought to myself, _if I hide in one of the empty barrels, he'll just look inside and find me. I'd better find one that's half-full of wine. _

Now you might wonder –and I wouldn't begrudge you for it– how a dragon of Smaug's size could come slinking down into the wine cellar and check the barrels.

My Father-King is the last of his kind, or so he told me. He belongs to a line of powerful dragons that can use their fire for more than just burning. When a dragon becomes engulfed in his own flames, the fire moulds him. He becomes that fire and he can move like fire. He does not cease to be a dragon, but he certainly doesn't look like one anymore.

Not that you can take my word for it; I have never seen Smaug in his fire-form. It is forbidden, of course, for _anyone_ to see him like that. I only tell you what I heard from him or read in his books.

But I know it is true.

Now with my plan set in motion, I found a barrel that suited my demands and quietly slipped inside. It was quite a large barrel, as they all were. At first I crouched down, holding my shift on my lap so I wouldn't stain it with wine, but soon my knees were aching so I sat down, soaking my garments in the black-red liquid that touched my elbows. I had not foreseen the smell would be quite so strong! I was near intoxicated just by inhaling it. I didn't know if I could hide there a whole day. I would probably vomit the little breakfast I had had that morning and make myself sick for at least a couple of days. I had to open the mouth of the barrel a little.

After an hour or two of nothing happening, I decided I'd better give myself some air.

My fingers gently pushed up the wooden lid. I placed the mirror at the small opening, eager to see if the cellar was empty. There was no one. I grew bolder and opened the lid further, but then I heard a noise and quickly dropped it down again.

After some tense moments of listening, I realized it was only the pitter-patter of mice. I sighed with relief.

The pitter-patter returned after some moments, but this time it was louder and heavier. It came closer and closer. I was not generally afraid of rats, but I decided I'd better make them go away.

I picked up two stones from my pocket and threw them out of the barrel's mouth.

I could have sworn I heard something like a growl. The pitter-patter was now deafening. I shrank back inside the barrel and drew my knees to my chest.

These were no ordinary mice.

And then it suddenly got warm. It got very warm. The entire barrel felt like a cloud of steam. I was sweating profusely.

I could not breathe anymore. The heat and the toxic smell of wine made me lurch. I pushed the lid open and put my head out.

"One strike. Two tries left," a voice purred in my ear.

I froze. When I slowly turned my head, I saw no one. But the voice sounded close. _Where_ was he?

There was a ring of burnt ash around the barrel. It had been a ring of fire.

Smaug had taken his fire-form.

"And next time you throw stones at me, you'll find me in a less favourable disposition," he added in the same serpentine voice.

I clambered out of the barrel and ran out of the wine cellar.

I was disappointed, but I was afraid, too. I didn't want to accidentally catch a glimpse of him, because I'd never hear the end of it and I would probably be reprimanded. It was bad enough I had attacked him with stones. I almost giggled. Smaug the Great and Terrible had been stoned by a little girl.

But when I reached the Hall of Thráin, I saw the dragon resting on his mound listlessly, as if he had not moved a single inch since I had gone into hiding.

My eyes widened with disbelief.

"But...how?"

Smaug grinned victoriously. "It seems you lost this round, little Cinta."

I grumbled something under my breath.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"I – I was tricked."

"Were you? Better try to stay sharp next time."

I clenched my fists in the pockets of my shift. I told myself I'd do better next time, because I really wanted that sword.

* * *

To my credit, my second attempt was far superior. I chose as my hiding place one of the dwarves' apartments. These were vast too and less cluttered with objects. They were more accessible and well-lit; there was light coming through small holes inside the mountain walls. In all regards, they seemed less advantageous. But I was beginning to understand cunning was necessary more than bravery. And these rooms provided me with a clever opportunity: to hide in plain sight. I reasoned that Smaug had found me so easily because he had guessed I would hide _inside_ something. He had known that, as a child, I would equate hiding with being unseen. Therefore, I now knew not to hide in any wardrobes or cupboards, or under the bed, or behind heavy tables.

I might be seen, but not noticed. That was my new strategy.

And it worked splendidly, at first.

The idea came to me in the blink of an eye. The dwarves liked best to sleep on solid ground, I had read, so they could feel earth's presence around them, but they had indulged in large, comfortable beds all the same. And the beds were adorned with tapestries and baldaquins. These baldaquins hung over the bedposts like great big bellies. If I managed to climb up one bedpost and jump on the large piece of cloth, I'd be safe from prying eyes. You could hardly notice my tiny figure inside it. You would have to be a fly on the ceiling to see me as I was only visible from above.

As soon as I forged my plan, I told my Father-King I was ready for my second try.

"Shall I find you swimming in wine again?" he teased.

But I was determined to get my sword and prove myself.

I was less confident now, but more prepared. I had some trouble climbing up the bedpost, but once I was safely lying on top of the baldaquin, I knew it would take much longer for Smaug to find me.

And hours did pass sluggishly, as I lay there, staring up at the stone ceiling and counting the number of scales on my King's wings so I wouldn't fall asleep.

I was beginning to hope I might win, after all.

When I heard the familiar pitter-patter, I held my breath and closed my eyes.

The sound seemed to come closer inside the room, but it did not reach me. I heard him moving about in the same fashion, but he did not call out his victory. The sound of his movements was fading, or I was too high to hear them.

Eventually, silence reigned once more.

Another hour passed, but I was not yet sure whether I should climb down.

I was beginning to think I could win.

I turned on my side and closed my eyes. I fell asleep and dreamt.

And in that dream, I thought I saw the sky, or the way I remembered the sky before I had been taken under the mountain. It was a strange shade, a bright pink with sparks of yellow. Gradually, the yellow became brighter. I thought the sun was rising. But it never did. The colours swirled and trembled, as if a powerful wind was moving them. Eventually, I could see a shape building inside those colours. A sinewy body, lithe and strong. At first I thought I saw myself and I laughed since I knew it was a dream. How could I have reached the sky when I was still under the mountain?

But I soon realized it was not me. It was someone else. A man. And he had been wrenched out of the sky and he had seized its colours and made them his own. He was aflame. And he was coming towards me. His hands were going to grab me and then I would be fire too.

I awoke with a start.

I told you earlier I have never seen Smaug in his fire-form and I suppose that is still true. But the dream was quite vivid and my mind created a portrait that unsettled me. Now that some years have passed I doubt that my imagination produced anything accurate. Surely, what I put together in a dream was the result of speculation and it must pale in comparison to his true fire-form. Nevertheless, I was quite taken with relief to find myself in the dwarves' apartments and not in the clutches of a man made of fire.

Yet, the relief was short-lived.

"Little Cinta slumbers while the dragon plunders," a soft rhyme was murmured in my ear.

The voice was coming from below. It was as if someone was lying on the bed.

I dared to look over the baldaquin, but the bed was empty. On its quilt was a dark line of ash.

"Two strikes, one try left," he announced me.

* * *

For a long time, I lay in my alcove thinking. I had one try left and so far, my brilliant ideas had led me nowhere. I could try and return to the wine cellar. Maybe he would not expect that. Then again, he seemed to know my way of thinking. No matter how many detours I took, he was one step ahead. He guessed I would try to confuse him, he guessed I would go for the unpredictable. After all, he could just as well have done the same thing I did; tick off his list the places where it would be impossible for me to hide.

_So, is that what must be done?_ I thought. _I have to hide where it is most dangerous for me?_

I contemplated where that most dangerous place would be.

It was my last try and I had to make it count. No middle-ground.

_The Heart of the Mountain_, I thought foolishly. _I have to go inside the mountain._

But how that bad idea turned out, in the end, and how I conquered my fear will be a tale for next time. I must get back to my inventories. Until we next meet.


	3. Chapter 3

_So, it's been a while, but the third chapter is here :) I'm sorry about the delay, I got caught up with school and I took my time finishing this chapter because I wanted it to turn out well. I am so astounded by all the lovely reviews! Did not expect that at all! Thank you so much for all those who encouraged me to continue, you are all wonderful. _

_Many thanks also to anonymous reviewer Hal who was very supportive and kind (and don't worry! definitely love to rewatch the movie!). _

_I hope you like this chapter. Let me know :)_

* * *

- 3 -

The Heart of the Mountain; I had no idea what it could be.

I must confess, I was more than a little curious to find out. So the choice seemed obvious. I did not like secrets, as a rule, and I wanted to know what was so terrifying about it. I decided this would be my last try.

After all, no matter what it was, it could not be more terrible than a dragon.

Living with one had certainly skewed my perception of danger.

It took more than shadows and whispers creeping at the edge of old tunnels to scare me off.

I had to make many preparations if I was to undertake this step, though.

I first led my Father-King to believe I was still searching for a new place to hide. He watched my progress with amusement, for he was convinced he would find me.

I started making bundles of things to take with me on my travels, but I made sure Smaug only saw trinkets, and nothing that would indicate a longer, more dangerous journey.

I could never settle on the day I was supposed to hide, because I could never be sure I had enough provisions with me, enough light, enough warm clothes. And, to be perfectly honest, I was never sure I could leave him.

Deep down, I must have sensed this would be a journey that would keep me away much longer than usual.

I dreaded not being able to come back. I dreaded never seeing him again. For, whom did I have besides him?

But my child's mind still wanted a sword. And when you are nine and bored, you tend to ignore pressing issues. Most importantly, you can't wait to defy authority.

I let Smaug know, finally, that I was going off on my last try.

Before he had even closed his eyes, I was gone.

* * *

The way to the Heart of the Mountain was through the abandoned railways in the old mines. At the end of the line there was a very old passage which was sealed off with chains, but someone as small as I could easily slip past them.

These were the deep passages, the ones that seemed to swallow the very air inside them.

Once more, I must stress how stupidly courageous living with a dragon had made me. Most of my years had been spent warding off a living, breathing creature whose eyes glowed gold and whose scales boiled red like furnaces. Cold and dark places, by contrast, were a solace, not a threat.

My eyes were trained for darkness, but I had brought with me one of the larger gems from my Father-King's collection that shone from within so brightly, I did not need any other light. He knew I had taken it but made no objections to it, for he imagined I would light my way through cellars or forges, not the corridors that led deep inside the mountain. I was spoiled when it came to jewellery. There was nothing forbidden in his pile, except the Arkenstone, which he guarded arduously from everyone, even me. He called it "The Heart of the Mountain" only to beguile his enemies, for it had nothing to do with my present destination. The Arkenstone was secretly one of the three prized Silmarili, but that is a secret between me and my Father-King. And now between you and me, too.

In any case, the gem I had taken was a rather charming imitation, one of many such imitations Smaug had furnished to confound any fortune-seekers.

The first true obstacle, however, was arriving at the end of the line.

No one can blame me for lacking imagination; I could not move the railcars for they were rusty and stuck to their joints, but even if I could have, I would not have risked making so much noise, so instead I decided I would climb up and down the railway, on foot, until I reached the end of the line. I placed the brilliant gem atop my head, in the folds of the scarf I had shrouded myself in. And there I was, stumbling and staggering down the railway, sometimes on my hands and knees, other times, gliding down as if on a slide, but more often than not walking on steadily, making sure I did not look up or down for fear of losing my balance and falling down into the dark chasm under my feet.

Sometimes I did look up, if only so the gem might light up the caverns and reveal to me forgotten beauties of a place that was now inhabited only by ghosts.

I kept on at a moderately quick pace, because I knew my Father-King would wake soon.

I did not foresee how tired I would grow, but I did not let it stop me, because I had read in many great tales that knights did not give up when they were hungry, thirsty, or even wounded. They went on, ignoring their own needs, because their quest was more important. Sometimes, the fate of an entire world lay on their shoulders. Now, it seemed to me that the fate of my secret world lay on mine. And what could be more important than getting a sword, so I could be a _real_ knight?

At first, the mines were draughty and dust moats sometimes made me sneeze, but as I got deeper and deeper, the temperature, instead of dropping, rose considerably and the walls looked as if they were newly polished. If you peeked closely, they seemed to be sweating. I began to grow worried. This warmth was not foreign, but it was not altogether familiar. It wasn't Smaug's fire, but it was _alive_.

Suddenly, I had a sneaking suspicion that there wasn't a _what_ down there, but a _who_.

My blood ran cold. I was halfway through my journey and I had thoughts of turning back.

But would a true knight turn back?

_No, I must continue. Nothing bad will happen. No one, but Father and I, dwells under the mountain. And even if I should meet someone, they might be happy to see a new face, _I thought to myself, in an attempt to pluck up the courage to go on. I had brought a small knife with me, just in case. I laid my hand on it. It was strapped to my waist where it lay warm against my skin. I felt better.

I must confess I was also distracted by the size and grandeur of the mines. They were comprised of thousands of pillars rising from the mountain, carved into faceless, terrifying shapes of demons and monsters of old. Some might have been gods for all I knew. The light of the gem cast lugubrious shadows on each. There were stone structures that resembled dwarves crouched either in prayer or hard at work, and I got the eerie sensation they were watching me. One such structure looked like it was holding a giant pickaxe and the railway cut right under it. I almost crouched down, for fear it would take my head.

But I made it safely past these stone guardians.

The end of the line was in sight.

The passage looked like a gaping mouth whose teeth had grown old and grey. As I raised my head and the gem light shone on it, those iron teeth seemed to move, but it was only a fleeting impression. Chains were still only chains.

I crouched down carefully and made sure my dress did not touch the shackles.

I would have to sneak underneath on my knees and elbows.

The gem's light only reached some feet in front of me. Everything was shrouded in darkness.

I still had time to turn around.

I think part of me wanted to cry, but another part of me was ashamed.

What would my Father say if he saw me now? A silly child, gone on a quest of great courage, only to return like a coward, empty-handed.

I had come too far.

My cheeks nearly touched the floor.

Crawling like a snake, I writhed and squirmed down the passage, trying not to touch the chains.

I don't know how it happened, but I lifted my head at the wrong moment, and a sharp edge pierced my cheek lightly. Two droplets of blood glided down the chains.

I shuddered and quickly rolled away.

When I could stand up again, I lifted my hand to my cheek and sighed with relief. It was only a very small gash.

_Well, no turning back now_, I thought, as I took more steps inside the passage.

The warmth was my only companion. Soon, I had to remove the shawl and put it in my bag. I held the gem in my hand and lifted it up and down the passage, hoping I would see something that would show me where I was going. I felt like I had been walking for a century.

Beads of sweat were trailing down my forehead freely. They were getting into my eyes, blurring my vision. I started to wish I was back in my alcove, but I also felt a little exhilarated that I had made it so far.

It seemed to me I was the first person to walk down this corridor. It certainly felt so.

For who else had dared to go this deep into the mountain?

Maybe the dwarves, but there was something in the air that made me think I was the first to breathe it.

I did not feel so afraid anymore. The only inconvenience, besides the warmth, was the cut on my cheek. I kept dabbing at it with my hand. The wound had not closed up and drops of blood were still spilling down my skin.

As I went deeper, the walls seemed to vibrate, as if a pulse was running through them. I had never heard a drumbeat before, but I believed it could not be very different.

Blood was still falling down my cheek, no matter how much I spat and wiped away. I tried to ignore it, but blood had already fallen on my clothes and shoes and on the ground, too. It was a worrying sight.

After some time, I had to stop and sit down because I was growing dizzy. Blood was still flowing from the wound. _The blood loss_, I thought. _It must make me weak._

I thought back to the chains. They had demanded a price for my entrance. Maybe this was it.

If I had been older, I might have run back. I might have even cried out. But my youth protected me. I was unaware of death, I was too innocent to see that it was standing right before me.

So after some while, I got up again and began walking. I wrapped the scarf around my head to cover my cheek.

Finally, I reached a crossroads. There were three paths before me. Which one was I supposed to take? They looked identical. I had no coin to toss.

I lifted up my scarf and looked at it. Half of it was soaked in blood. I shivered.

I had to lie down, if only for a while. Maybe if I rested a little, an idea would come to me. As it was, I could not decide which path to take.

I sank down and rested my back against the wall. Soon, my eyelids fluttered shut.

* * *

You should prepare yourself, my dear journal, for what is to come. I have reached the most gruesome part of my tale. For when I woke finally, I found myself in a pool of blood.

I was very weak. I was feverish. I was dying. Finally, my nine-year old self had understood this much.

It was no longer warm. It was dark. The gem was gone.

And I was surrounded by walls on all sides. The crossroads had disappeared.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I became aware of the different shades of darkness. If I looked up, the darkness was...lighter, somehow. The air, too, was fresher from above.

I realized there was no ceiling. I was at the bottom of a tunnel of some sort. I must have fallen through a trap door. I had no other explanation for my present condition.

Then, quite suddenly, there was light.

Flames rose from three pyres which were set into the walls and washed the room in gold. There were no doors, no windows, no exit from this room.

And there, in the centre, a flight of steps led to a stone pedestal, on which was placed a white marble basin. The flames were reflected in its small cracks. It looked empty from where I was standing. It seemed old, older than me, older than my knights.

I crawled on my hands and knees towards the stairs. I cannot explain the pull that this basin had on me, but I had to look inside it. I had to see where my journey had taken me. I left bloody marks on the floor and the steps and my bloodied fingers reached out feebly to touch the marble.

"_STOP! DO NOT TOUCH IT!"_

The voice had come from inside me. I had not spoken the words, but it had felt like a powerful warning from the deepest recess of my mind.

Yet I wanted to touch it. I was feverish and I wanted to feel the coolness of the marble on my skin.

"_CINTA! YOU MUST TURN BACK NOW!"_

I turned my head. There was no one in the room.

"_YOU HAVE DISOBEYED ME, CHILD! YOU HAVE GONE WHERE I TOLD YOU NOT TO."_

"F-Father?" I squeaked, terrified.

"_A CHILD OF MINE WOULD NEVER DISOBEY ME. A CHILD OF MINE WOULD NOT BE SO FOOLISH."_

"I'm sorry, Father! I-I wanted to prove myself, to be a knight for you –" I stammered, feeling more and more feverish.

"_A KNIGHT? YOU ARE SOON TO BE A CORPSE!"_

I shrank back in terror and started crying.

"I only wanted to see what it was! I thought you wouldn't find me here!"

"_OH, IT WAS LUCKY I FOUND YOU IN TIME, FOOLISH GIRL. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW CLOSE TO PERDITION YOU ARE."_

Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, mingling with the blood, washing it away.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

"_YOU MUST WAIT FOR ME. DO NOT TOUCH THE BASIN. DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING. LIE DOWN AND SLEEP. SLEEP, FOOLISH GIRL. AND I WILL COME FOR YOU."_

"B-but where is it, Father? Where is the Heart of the Mountain?"

I heard my Father-King laugh. It might have been a growl. It might have been both.

_"YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN THE HEART OF THE MOUNTAIN, CINTA. YOUR OWN HEART."_

My young mind did not easily understand his words. Was it a riddle?

"H-how?"

"_THE MOUNTAIN HAS NO HEART. IT NEVER HAD. BUT OH, HOW IT CRAVES TO POSSESS ONE. DAY AND NIGHT HE WAITS FOR THE MOMENT A YOUNG, NAIVE MORTAL LIKE YOU MIGHT COME WANDERING DOWN TO HIS LAIR. AND THEN, HE WOULD SNATCH IT AWAY, FOR HIS OWN."_

"That is dreadful!"

"_ONE TOUCH AND YOUR HEART WOULD HAVE BEEN IN THAT BASIN. THE MOUNTAIN DRANK FROM YOUR BLOOD AND TOOK YOU INTO HIS INNERMOST CHAMBER. WHERE THE HEART BELONGS."_

"Did – did he ever have a heart of his own?"

"_ONCE. ONCE, HE HAD A HEART."_

Father's voice sounded sad and disappointed. I knew I must have been the cause. But I wondered why his words reminded me of mourning songs.

"I will never disobey you again, Father."

He said no more and I took one more breath before I fainted on the steps.

* * *

When I next awoke, it had all seemed like a bad dream. I was tucked into my alcove, warm under three quilts. I had my wooden toys all around me, my jewels, my books. I felt safe.

Then, when I tried to get up, I groaned and fell back in the bed.

I was so weak, I could barely raise a finger.

I noticed I was only wearing my shift. My clothes were laid down on a chair by my side. I stared. They were half-burnt. My eyes widened. I was not seeing things. The hems were charred. They had been on fire.

I soon fell asleep again and dreamt, for the second time, a man engulfed in flames, whose face I never saw. I dreamt he was carrying me far away from the Mountain's chamber. He was carrying me back up to the world of the living.

I dreamt that the stone dwarves I had seen in my path rose and moved away when he came down the railway with me in his arms. I dreamt that the monsters and gods of old sang and laughed and danced wildly around us.

I dreamt and dreamt a long time. And when I was ready to greet my old world again, the half-burnt clothes were gone. Instead, plates and plates of food were lying down by my bed.

I realized I was ravenous. I began eating in a very unladylike fashion, stuffing food down my throat quickly, lest it would disappear.

Tears almost welled up in my eyes. My Father was very kind, after all. For who else had taken care of me all this time? I wondered if he had carried me, like in my dreams. I wondered what he could do when I did not see him. I wondered and smiled through the tears.

* * *

Days passed and I felt ready to get up and get back to my old routine. I no longer wanted a sword, but I wanted some answers.

So, plucking up the courage, I returned to the Great Hall.

He was waiting for me, of course. His golden eyes surveyed me with displeasure and sarcasm.

"Well then, the foolish girl returns with her tail between her legs."

I blushed.

"Father, I shouldn't have done it –"

"Now, now, no more of that nonsense. What's done is done. You had a good scare. It might prove useful. You will know to behave now."

I smiled gratefully.

"_But_. If you disobey me again, I will do much worse to you than the Mountain," he growled, his enormous head coming down to my height. He opened his mouth and blew a powerful gust towards me which almost knocked me down. I swallowed my shriek.

"Is that understood?"

I nodded eagerly.

"Good. As punishment for your thoughtless actions, you will scrub all the cauldrons in the kitchen twice."

"But – but Father! They're all twice my size!"

"Well, then, you had better get to it."

I sighed. "I suppose I deserve that."

He was about to turn away from me, which was my signal that I must leave him to rest, but there was one thing I needed to know.

"Father? _How_ did you find me? How did you know –"

"Your smell, naturally," he replied arrogantly.

"Then...then you could _always_ smell me? Even when I hid in the cellar and in the bedrooms?"

I swear, dear journal, Smaug actually smirked.

"What do _you_ think?"

I huffed. "That's not a very fair competition!"

"Who said anything about being fair?"

"You said I should have a fair chance!"

"That does not oblige _me_ to be fair."

"But one must always be fair!"

"No, little Cinta. One must always be _clever_. There is a difference. You must learn to be clever."

I frowned. Maybe he was right, but I was not entirely convinced. I felt an idea creeping up on me. A _clever_ idea.

I smiled sweetly. "Father, if I clean all the cauldrons, may I have one last try?"

"What?!"

"Well, I think it would be fair – I mean, _clever_ to let me try one more time."

"Clever?! After what you've done?"

"I would never go back _there_... you know I wouldn't. I would hide _here_."

"Here? What do you mean by here?"

"In the Great Hall."

He puffed with laughter. "You think you can hide from me in the Great Hall?"

I nodded my head vigorously.

"You really _are_ a foolish girl."

"You wanted to teach me to hide," I argued with my youth's courage.

"And you wanted a sword, instead," he retorted. "So you never learned anything."

I did not let his chiding words discourage me.

"Aren't you curious to see what I'll do, Father?"

Smaug snorted. "It will be entertaining to see you fail one more time. I grant you this wish, Cinta. But you will get no sword from me."

"No sword, Father. I don't want that anymore."

"Oh?"

No, it wasn't a sword I craved now. It was the chance to trick him and be _clever_.

I smiled and curtseyed. "I'm wanted in the kitchens."

He grumbled something under his breath about "unruly child", but I knew I had convinced him. And I knew just the place to hide.

But that is for another time. Until next we meet.


End file.
